


heartlines

by blackkat



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, M/M, Romance, Sith By Technicality, but in line with canon, given Ferus's interactions with him, not overly Anakin-friendly, sith planets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29227698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: When he rejoins the Order in the middle of the Clone Wars, all Ferus wants is to help as many people as possible. An emergency mission lands him in control of the 501st before he even has time to catch his balance, though, and the disappearance of the Chancellor means there's no time to waste. The galaxy's Deep Core is a treacherous maze of deadly planets and old traps, and fighting their way through is the sort of thing that would push Ferus to his limits, even without a squad of clones to protect at the same time.
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex/Ferus Olin
Comments: 118
Kudos: 577





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ......anyway, thelastbattlecry is a terrible enabler and if I turn up dead, he's the cause.

“Ferus,” Siri says, reaching out, and the relief in her voice makes something small and guilty and entirely relieved twist through Ferus's chest.

“Master Tachi,” he says formally, damnably awkward. There's still a creeping thread of uncertainty, a lack of confidence that whispers that he’s about to get tossed out of the Temple on his ear, and he can't quite fight the stiffness as he offers Siri his hand.

Like she did so many times during their training, Siri rolls her eyes at him, then grabs him by the front of his robes and hauls him into a tight hug. “ _Ferus_ ,” she says, chiding and relieved in equal measure. “I had to hear from the _Council_ that you were coming back?”

She still smells like musk-roses and cool air, like he remembered. Ferus grips the back of her robes, willing his hands not to shake, his eyes not to burn. He’d thought it was some fanciful sort of created memory, that Siri couldn’t be so warm, so steady, but—

“I just followed the Force,” he says, because that was always her skill, the one he could never quite learn. The thing he could never quite let his control slip enough to manage.

“And it led you here,” Siri says softly, arms squeezing tight for a moment. When she pulls back, she’s smiling, and one of her hands immediately goes to his hair, the pale streaks there. “You’re starting to look like an old man.”

Ferus tries to duck away from the touch, indignant, but Siri hauls him back upright by the neck of his robes. “Oh no. You're _my_ padawan, and I get to poke at and manhandle you all I want, Ferus. You’re _back_.”

“ _Master_ ,” Ferus says, aggrieved. “I'm not even a padawan anymore, the Council Knighted me—”

“You’ll always be my padawan,” Siri says breezily. “Close your mouth, Ferus.”

Ferus knows that tone. He closes it.

“Thank you,” Siri tells him, and then tugs him in again, hugging him tightly like she doesn’t want to let go. Her relief is shuddering into old, tempered grief, a bright joy that hits even harder than the aged sadness. “No one blamed you, Ferus,” she says, quiet but raw. “It was too many accidents, and too much bad luck.”

“ _I_ blamed me,” Ferus says, and Darra’s blank eyes are still there every time he thinks about it for too long, but—she died a Jedi. It was Ferus's fault, but he knows exactly what she would have told him, especially in the context of the wider war. No sitting on the sidelines, no being afraid. There are people who need help, and if she could, Darra would be helping them right now. It’s only right that Ferus should take up the task when his mistake got her killed.

“I know,” Siri says sadly, and pulls back again, cupping the back of his head as she smiles at him. “And look at you. No padawan braid, but—well, it’s been two years.”

Ferus swallows, and—it had felt so _stupid_ , after he left the Order. Silly sentiment, one more bit of stupidity and Ferus not being able to let go. But maybe there's a reason for everything, and maybe this wasn’t one more mistake in Ferus's life, but something with a _purpose_.

He reaches into the pocket of his robes, pulls out the small case he’s carried with him since that first night after he left the Order. He’d cut his padawan braid himself, sitting alone in small room the Order had arranged for him while he was finding his feet. In the aftermath, though, he’d never quite been ablet o bring himself to throw it out, had carried it with him right up until the Force dragged him back to Coruscant and the Temple.

“It’s technically still my Knighting day,” he says, and offers it to her. “I know it’s years late, but—”

Siri plucks it from his fingers and slides the whole box up into her sleeve without hesitation. “You're not getting it back,” she tells him. “I went _years_ without anything but your books to remember you by—”

Ferus's throat is so tight it’s hard to breathe. “You kept my books?” he asks, hating how small his voice is, and Siri stops. She looks at him for a long moment, then smiles crookedly and reaches up, cuffing him lightly in the back of the head.

“Of course I kept your books,” she says. “You might have left the Order, but I wasn’t about to let you leave _me_ , Ferus. Even if you needed time and space.”

Ferus can feel his expression twist, and he _knows_ she doesn’t do well with people crying, so obviously the only thing to do is step forward and bury his face in her robes like he used to when he was a child. It makes Siri chuckle, and she loops her arms around his shoulders, holding him to her gently.

“I _still_ can't believe you let me find out from the _Council_ ,” she says in his ear. “Obi-Wan is going to hold it over my head _forever_.”

“Are you sharing quarters yet?” Ferus asks innocently, and only realizes his mistake when deft fingers clamp down on the back of his neck. He yelps, tries to squirm away, but Siri knows all of his tricks, and she rattles him like a naughty tooka kitten, then hauls him into a headlock.

“We are _not_ sharing quarters, Ferus Olin, you shut your mouth and keep it that way—”

“Well,” a woman says dryly, from behind them. “At least I'm back in the running for Mace's cutest grandpadawan contest.”

“Master Adi!” Siri says, swiftly straightening up and pulling Ferus with her, like _he_ was the one roughhousing in the middle of the hallway. Then she pauses, and says, “ _You_ didn’t tell me Ferus was back, either.”

Adi raises a brow, looking amused. “There wasn’t time. Ferus contacted me about rejoining the Order and we called him before the Council barely half an hour later, to assess his request. But I'm glad it turned out well.” She leans in, ducking her head to kiss Ferus on the forehead, and he swallows hard against the lump in his throat.

“I didn’t even know if it was possible, after—after I left” he says, and Adi squeezes his hand.

“We moved faster than we might have,” she admits. “This war has us all stretched thin, and the addition of another Knight, particularly one as skilled as you, is a help.” She smiles at him, and when Siri leans into her with a huff, she laughs, hooking her arms around both of them. Her tendrils shiver, and Ferus can't help but grin, leaning into the warmth of both of them as Adi and Siri both curl close.

“I missed you,” he says, almost dizzy with it. “Thank you, Master Gallia.”

“It was hardly my decision alone.” Adi smooths a hand over his hair, then Siri’s. “Stass will be so happy to see you again, as well. I think she’s meditating in the Room of a Thousand Fountains right now. Perhaps we should all go see her.”

“I’d like that,” Ferus manages, voice cracking, and Siri laughs. She loops her arm over Ferus's shoulders as Adi pulls back, squeezing, and turns him bodily towards the lift.

“Did the Council assign you quarters?” she asks. “Where are you staying?”

“Not yet. I'm supposed to visit the quartermaster,” Ferus says, hesitating at the edge of the lift. Gently, Adi shoves him forward, and Siri pulls him in. “ _Master_.”

“Quartermaster first, then,” Siri says, leaning back against the wall and pulling Ferus in beside her. “Robes, too.”

Ferus has _missed_ Jedi robes. Missed the tranquility and weighted history of the Temple, and the hum of ten thousand empaths with their emotions and thoughts peaceful, practiced. The world outside is chaotic, wild, and there are parts of it Ferus loves, but—

This is _home_. This is where he grew up, where his family is. Even when he left, this was the only place in the universe he wanted to be.

“Maybe I can pull off all black,” he says, a little thick, and huffs when Siri snickers. “Master!”

Adi is smiling, too, clearly amused as she folds her arms and raises a hand to hide her mouth. “Green, maybe, if you want something dark,” she says, and when Ferus gives her a wounded look, she snorts. “Green and tan.”

Ferus can't hold on to his indignation for even another moment; it feels like he’s about to bubble over with joy in a way he hasn’t felt in _years_. “I think I could bear that,” he admits, and Adi chuckles.

“I'm afraid black just isn't your color,” she says. “Now especially.”

Ferus offers her a shrug. He doesn’t have many opinions about what are his colors and what aren’t, not when he’s simply glad to have the prospect of Jedi robes in his future again. “I don’t care about the color,” he says quietly. “Just that they're Jedi robes.”

“A Knight’s robes,” Adi says quietly, but Ferus can feel her pride, soft and bright. “Congratulations, Ferus.”

“Congratulations,” Siri echoes, bumping their temples together and smiling. “Now that you're back—”

With a soft chime, the lift stops, and the doors open.

“—can't believe I had to save you _again_ , Master—”

“You did not have to _save me_ , I had everything perfectly in hand and then _you_ fell through the sacred window and _ruined_ my negotiations—”

“I didn’t _fall_ , I jumped because I needed to rescue you from that _thing_ —”

“That _thing_ was the Queen Mother and you scared her into hibernation for a _decade_ , Anakin. It’s a wonder her people are even willing to do business with us—”

“She was trying to _eat_ you! Rex will back me up on this, he saw it too—”

Pointedly, Adi clears her throat, and Anakin freezes half an inch before he crashes backwards into her. “Knight Skywalker,” she says, raising a brow. “Master Kenobi. You’ve returned, I see.”

“Master Gallia,” Obi-Wan says, startled, and drags Anakin forward a few steps. “Siri! I hadn’t realized you had finished your mission.” His eyes slide sideways, landing on Ferus, and he stops short. “Oh. Padawan Olin.”

“Knight,” Siri corrects, and gives Obi-Wan a grin. “He came _back_. He’s a Jedi again.”

Obi-Wan chuckles, inclining his head to Ferus. “You’ve been sorely missed, Ferus.”

Not by everyone, given the stiffness in Anakin, the way he’s suddenly radiating hostility. “Thank you, Master Kenobi,” he says formally, and slides out of Siri’s grip. “Hello, Anakin.”

“Ferus,” Anakin says shortly, frowning, and Ferus takes a split second to weigh options, then ducks past Obi-Wan and out of the lift, where a man in worn blue and white armor is standing.

“Master Siri, Master Gallia, I’ll meet you in the Room of a Thousand Fountains,” he says. “I really should go see the quartermaster first.”

Siri gives him a look that says they're going to be talking about this later. “All right, Ferus,” she says after a moment, and turns her smile on Obi-Wan. “Obi-Wan, what’s this about almost getting eaten again?”

“I did _not_ almost get eaten, let alone _again_ —”

“Rex?” Anakin asks, a little sharply. “Coming?”

The armored man gives the lift a look, then says, “Sorry, sir, I think I should wait for the next one. Weight limits. And I need to find Cody about those last engagement reports.”

“All right,” Anakin says, though he’s still clearly not pleased. “Ferus. We should spar later. It’s been a while.”

“If you’d like,” Ferus says politely, making a mental note to stay as far away from Anakin as possible so he doesn’t have to honor that. Anakin is competitive, and he’s a good swordsman, while Ferus has mostly been relying on a blaster for the last few years. He’s kept himself in practice, but—Anakin gets really into sparring, and Ferus isn't in the mood to get tossed around.

The lift doors slide closed, and Ferus lets out a quiet breath of relief, watching the light above the door start to blink softly again.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he offers to the armored man, who doesn’t feel like a Jedi but is clearly familiar with the Temple regardless.

Quickly, the man raises his hands. “No interruption, sir. But if I get on a lift with more than one other person, it shakes a little.”

Ferus blinks, and—he’d mentioned weight limits. “The armor?” he asks curiously, and the man nods.

“It’s a lot, sir,” he says, almost apologetic. “And clones are sturdy even without the extra.”

Clones. This is a clone trooper. Ferus feels a dart of surprise, then wants to call himself an idiot. He’s seen the troopers from a distance, knows they exist and have been fighting alongside the Jedi this whole war. He should have realized.

“There's a larger lift near the gardens,” he says. “For bigger species. Would that help?”

That painted helmet turns, and Ferus can feel his surprise. “There is? Sorry, sir, General Skywalker never mentioned it.”

“He probably forgot,” Ferus says, and offers the man a smile. “I can show you, if you like. For next time.”

“I’d appreciate that, sir.” The clone pauses, then says, “I'm Captain Rex, of the 501st Legion. Under General Skywalker.”

 _General_ isn't a term that fits the Jedi, but—better to have the Jedi leading than no one at all, Ferus thinks. He knew what he was getting into, coming back right now. “I'm Knight Ferus Olin,” he returns, and offers a hand. Most Jedi don’t clasp wrists, because touch makes thoughts and emotions clearer and psychometry isn't _that_ rare a skill, but Ferus knows the motion sets most people outside the Order at ease more than bowing. “It’s good to meet you, Captain.”

Rex takes the offered hand without hesitation, gripping Ferus's wrist firmly. There are deep scratches in his vambrace, clear under Ferus's fingertips. “You too, sir.” When Ferus lets go and steps back, Rex falls in with him, keeping close to the windows of the hall like he’s worried about taking up too much space. Ferus tries not to pay too much attention to the breadth of him, or the deliberate sway in his steps as he moves in the heavy _kama_. The armor itself is enough to distract him, mostly; it’s well cared for, but there are scorch marks on it, the scars of blaster-fire, a few deep gouges. It’s interesting.

Clearly, though, he’s not the only one interested. Rex keeps sneaking sideways glances at him, trying to be subtle about it. When Ferus catches his eye, raising a brow in question, he coughs, jerking around to look ahead of them. “Sorry, General,” he says. “I just—the other general said you came back?”

Ferus swallows, looking away. “I left the Order right before I was Knighted,” he says. “A friend died, and—I needed time to come to terms with my own role in her death. I couldn’t do that in the Temple, so I walked away.”

There's a pause as Rex considers that. “But you did come back,” he says after a moment. “I…didn’t realize that was an option for Jedi. Sir.”

Ferus gives him a rueful smile. “The leaving or the returning?”

Rex snorts quietly. “Both,” he admits. “But—we need every general we can get.”

It’s honest. Tired, too, and grimly set, and Ferus feels that stalwart sort of acceptance echo through him like a bell. Something in his chest twists, and he has to take a breath, feeling the weight of the lightsaber at his hip like it’s brand new.

“Whatever I can give, I will,” he says honestly, and Rex's helmet turns towards him for a long moment, then looks away again.

“Generally,” he says, a little softer, “we have to _stop_ the Jedi from giving too much. But whatever division you get, sir, I'm sure they're going to take care of you.”

There are too many things Ferus could say to that, and not enough words. Instead of trying, he comes to a stop in front of the larger lift, then lays a hand over the controls. “Here,” he says. “It goes to all the landing platforms and the main hall. Just look for the doors marked with red instead of white.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s appreciated,” Rex says with relief, and when he takes a cautious step in, there’s no noticeable change. Relief washes through him, and Ferus can't help but smile as Rex turns to face him. Rex nods once, formal, respectful, but Ferus shakes his head.

“Thank _you_ , Captain,” he says. “I'm less nervous now. You helped.”

The heat of awkward embarrassment flashes across Rex's mind, but before he can answer, the doors slide closed. Ferus steps back, watching the lift rise, and then takes a breath.

Seeing Anakin unsettled him, made him think of all of his mistakes again. But—Rex is a good reminder of why exactly he came back, of all the souls that really do need him. Ferus made so many mistakes, let too many things get in the way, but—

He’s going to try. Try to do better, try to save people, try to make his connection to the Force mean something more than some sort of genetic lottery. He _can_. The Order is structure and family and a way to save more people than he ever could alone. This will work.

Everything changed when he left the Order. Now it’s all changing again. But Siri always says that change is the motion of the galaxy, and Ferus can accept that, change with it. That’s what he _should_ do, as a Jedi.

Ferus tugs at the nearly-white streak in his hair, and he can't help but smile to himself, thinking of Siri, of Adi, of Rex. Even beyond Darra, they're good reasons to be here. It feels _right_ , and letting go of control enough to follow the Force completely is still hard, but—

Easier, right now, with the Temple and the other Jedi around him.

Ferus breathes, and straightens. He needs to see the quartermaster, and then he needs to find Adi and Siri and Stass. Being around them is the best part of coming home, and he knows it won't last forever, but just for now. Just in this moment, he’ll take the gift and enjoy it.

“Looking a little flushed there, _vod_ ,” Cody says without even looking up from his pad.

Rex honestly doesn’t want to know how he can tell. He groans, pulling his bucket off, and sinks down in one of the open chairs in what’s technically Obi-Wan’s office, but which Cody tends to occupy more often. It’s a safe spot, because the door locks, and no one’s going to wander in and see Rex sitting here with his face _steaming_.

“ _Jetii_ ,” he mutters, though he doesn’t quite know if he means it as the insult it’s supposed to be. Ferus's smile is still bright behind his eyes, the simple expression lighting up his face; he’d been handsome beforehand, striking, but—the memory of that smile is lodged in Rex's gut like a hot knife, and it’s hard to breathe around it.

Cody makes a low sound of amusement, finally looking up. _Unfortunately_ looking up; he’s smirking, and Rex would throw his bucket at him if he didn’t know Cody would retaliate with something a lot worse. “You figure something out about yourself, Rex?”

Rex makes a rude—if halfhearted—gesture at him. “Nothing _new,_ ” he says. “But a little sympathy would be appreciated.”

“If you want sympathy, go to Ponds,” Cody says without mercy. “Pretty?”

“ _Kriff_ ,” Rex sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. Ferus was kind, and thoughtful, and he went out of his way to make Rex more comfortable. And then he _thanked_ Rex for all of Rex's awkward attempts at small talk, and smiled, and—

With a muffled groan, Rex drops his head on the edge of the desk and asks, “How do you _deal_ with it?”

“Jedi being pretty?” Cody raises an unimpressed brow at him. “I remember all the times they dropped their lightsabers in the middle of a fight—”

“Jedi who _aren’t_ Obi-Wan,” Rex clarifies, rolling his eyes, then pauses. “Did you know Jedi could rejoin the Order after they left?” he asks.

Surprise flickers over Cody's face. “Rejoin? You mean someone like Dooku could have come back?”

“Apparently.” Rex rests his chin on the edge of the desk. “Ferus did. He just got promoted to Knight, and he said he left before he stopped being a padawan.”

Cody makes a thoughtful sound. “I forget they can leave, sometimes,” he says after a moment. “The Jedi.”

Rex does, too. Particularly when he has to cover for Anakin and his secret wife when they're sneaking around. Just the other day he had to lie straight to Gree’s face about why he couldn’t go into a certain room on the cruiser, and Gree had made a lot of very worried noises about Rex being concussed and actually _walked him to medical_ to make sure he wasn’t. And the whole time Anakin was locked in there doing things Rex really, really doesn’t want to think about when he’s going to have to use that conference room to host an _admiral_ in the near future.

Sometimes he kind of wants to shake his general, and Anakin is a _good_ Jedi, and he’s amazing, but he and Padmé sneaking around is ridiculous enough that Rex feels a burning need to tell them that they wouldn’t _have_ to sneak around if Anakin just left the Order and married her openly. Besides, it’s not like _only_ Jedi are allowed to use lightsabers, so Anakin wouldn’t even have to give up his weapon.

Maybe after the war he can make that point, Rex thinks with a sigh. He’s been covering for Anakin enough, and has played guard often enough, that he probably has the right.

“I'm more surprised they can come back,” he says instead.

Cody just hums. “Their ability with the Force is still the same,” he says, tipping one shoulder in a shrug. “And they’ve gone through training. The Jedi are a religious order. Makes sense that people who believe again are welcomed back.”

“Well, one more Jedi is a good thing,” Rex says, trying not to think of Ferus's smile again. He’s _fine_. He’s a professional. He can handle this. “I wonder where he’ll get assigned.”

“Wherever it is, you’ll probably see him again at some point,” Cody says, amused. “Did you ask him for his comm number?”

“Of course I didn’t!” Rex protests, feeling himself flush again. “He’s a _general_.”

Cody's expression says _volumes_ , but he keeps his mouth shut, so Rex can pretend he doesn’t catch any of it.

“Besides,” he says, in the vague hope it will distract Cody from his judgement. “He’s a new Knight. He’s probably going to get put in charge of one of the reserves in the Colonies. Not much call for the 501st out there.”

“Which is why you should have asked for his comm code.” Cody doesn’t look up from his pad. “Don’t make that face at me, I’ll make _sure_ it sticks that way. And besides, we’re on leave for the next two weeks. You’ll have plenty of chances to ask him.”

That’s true, and not something Rex had considered. Two weeks of downtime, and plenty of excuses to hang around the Temple, given how much time most of the commanders spend here. It will probably take them at least a few days to assign Ferus to a division and ship him out, and that’s not much time, given everything, but—

“He’s a _general_ ,” Rex says again, helpless.

Cody saves whatever file he’s working on, then casts a long look at Rex, one brow slightly lifted. It’s a look that has passing similarities to looks Obi-Wan has aimed at Anakin in the past, and Rex kind of wants to throw something at him just for that.

“Maybe,” he says, even, deliberate, like Rex is being slow, “the fact that he just rejoined the Jedi means he _needs_ a friendly face, Rex. And yours won't actively scare him off. Probably.”

Rex really does throw his bucket at him for that.

If he hustles out of the office afterwards, well. No one on earth can blame him for that. Cody is a _bastard_.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sir,” Rex says, trying not to let his alarm show. “I really don’t think this is a good idea—”

“It’ll be fine, Rex,” Anakin says breezily, stuffing a few stray articles of clothing down into his pack. “Ahsoka's in class, and Obi-Wan’s got Council meetings. And besides! We’ve got two whole weeks of downtime. Not like that happens often.”

It doesn’t, and the admirals _promised_ that the 501st would gets its full allotment of leave after their last three rotations of shore leave were cut off unexpectedly. Still, something uncertain curls in Rex's stomach, and he hesitates, glancing from Anakin's mostly-packed bag to the door of his quarters. Ahsoka's room is empty, and Rex's instinct probably shouldn’t be to look for the padawan to talk sense into her Master, but—he does it anyway. Some habits are hard to break.

“Sir,” he says. “Leaving Coruscant probably isn't a good idea right now. If we’re called out suddenly—”

“We won't be,” Anakin says, with a note of confidence that usually makes Rex feel better. “Even Jedi need some time off, right? Besides, Padmé and I are just going back to Naboo. If you _do_ get called out, the Mid Rim isn't that far from anywhere. It’s fine, Rex.”

“Yes, sir.” Rex doesn’t _like_ trying to argue with Anakin, but he just feels a little uneasy, despite everything. It’s probably a little justified for the sheer amount of _trouble_ Anakin tends to get into, even on simple trips to the Senate. “Does General Kenobi know where you’re going?”

What little bit of hope he has is dashed instantly when Anakin snorts, straightening and swinging his pack over his shoulder. “Obi-Wan is _busy_ ,” he says. “He won't even notice I'm gone. And even if he _does_ , I'm sure Ferus being around will distract him.”

Something in Rex's stomach tugs, and he has to swallow at the flash of Ferus's smile in his memory. It _still_ makes his breath come a little shorter, makes his face feel hot, and it takes a long second to register the actual words that surrounded Ferus's name in that sentence.

“Distract him, sir?” he asks dumbly, not entirely sure what Anakin means. Ferus _is_ distracting, but Rex hadn’t thought _Obi-Wan_ would think so.

Anakin huffs, and when he heads out of the room, Rex follows, not entirely sure what else to do. “Obi-Wan likes Ferus,” he says, like this is some damning indictment of Obi-Wan’s taste. “They always used to look really cozy when we were padawans, and he wanted Ferus to get fast-tracked on some brand-new program for padawans to reach Knighthood. Obi-Wan’s probably overjoyed that he finally made it, even if he’s late.”

Rex hesitates, weighing a response against a careful question, and swallows. “More Jedi is good, right, sir?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Anakin says, still clearly displeased. “I'm not surprised he came back. Ferus always treats everything like a competition, always has to be the most noble. This whole thing was probably more than he could resist.”

That wasn’t Rex's impression, but then, he’s not a Jedi, so maybe Ferus considers him exempt from whatever sort of competition he likes. “Were you friends when you were padawans, sir?” he asks, and—he probably shouldn’t, but the tug of curiosity is hard to resist. It’s still so strange to think of a Jedi rejoining the Order.

“Master Obi-Wan and Master Tachi took a lot of missions together, so we always ended up around each other.” Anakin checks his comm, distracted, and frowns. “He knew Tru, too.”

Rex blinks, sorting through the names of Jedi he knows. He can't remember that one ever being mentioned, by either Anakin or Obi-Wan. “Sir?”

“Tru Veld,” Anakin says with a huff, and then, “He was a friend, but on our last mission together Ferus gave him the wrong idea about some stuff.”

Rex blinks again, then frowns a little, surprised. Ferus had seemed perfectly kind, in the hall, and he hadn’t exactly jumped to defame Anakin. Had clearly blamed himself for whatever had happened on that last mission, and—maybe that’s a sign of him growing since he left the Temple. Or maybe Rex just got the wrong idea. Before he can ask anything else, though, Anakin's comm chimes, and he raises it, then grins.

“Padmé got the time off,” he says, deeply pleased, and claps Rex on the shoulder. “I’ll bring you back a souvenir from Naboo, Rex.”

Rex _doesn’t_ roll his eyes behind his bucket, because he tries not to be actively rude to his general. “Sir, does the commander know where you're going?”

“Ahsoka's fine,” Anakin says confidently. “Obi-Wan can help if she has any questions, and if she came with us she’d just be bored.”

That doesn’t actually answer Rex's question, but he doesn’t know how to push, so he keeps his mouth shut, following Anakin to the closest lift. He feels a little unsteady, an edge of alarm in his chest that he tries to keep buried. Anakin is probably right in saying that nothing will happen, but—after a year and a half of war, Rex feels paranoid whenever he isn't actively getting shot at.

“Yes, sir,” he says, trying to force himself to relax. Cody had recommended that he take a walk through the Gardens of Meditation, and Rex had intended to ask Anakin where they were, but then he’d walked in on his general packing and gotten thoroughly derailed. Maybe he should still try it, though the thought of being even that far from a ship that can get him back to the 501st’s barracks makes him feel twitchy.

Anakin grins at him, easily confident in a way that makes Rex's tension slide down a notch. As the lift doors open, he grips Rex's shoulder once more, then steps in, and says, “Don’t worry about it so much, Rex. It’s just a vacation. Even Jedi take those.”

It still doesn’t quite sit _right_ , but Rex supposes a Jedi would know about coming danger a lot better than he would. “Yes, sir. Have fun.”

“I’ll tell Padmé you said hello,” Anakin says, and then the doors slide closed. Rex watches the light flicker on, then takes a breath, stepping back. The muscles in his back and spine feel strung tight, painfully tense, but—

Just a vacation, he tells himself. It’s fine. Anakin would sense if something were about to happen, and beyond that, they're on leave. They have two whole weeks before they're back on the front, and Anakin is probably right to take advantage of that.

Breathing out, Rex rolls his sore shoulder, a leftover from their last deployment, then turns. He’ll find the Gardens, he decides, and makes a conscious decision that doing so means he’s going to stop worrying, at least for a few hours. The Temple is large, but it’s right near the barracks, and if he needs to leave in a hurry, it will be simple enough.

Besides, Anakin wouldn’t leave if he thought there would be a problem.

There are no gardens on this level of the Temple, so Rex makes for the curving ramp leading up to the next one, avoiding a knot of younglings who aren’t even carrying lightsabers yet. They grin at him, or wave, and one girl calls a greeting, and Rex gives an awkward wave in return that makes several of them giggle. They pick up their pace, and he watches them go out of the corner of his eye, still finding it a little hard to believe that they're _Jedi_.

Ahsoka is proof that even as children Jedi are impossibly dangerous, but still. The idea that they're so _small_ and still have all the same innate abilities is…strange.

When he makes it to the next floor, there’s a distinct lack of gardens there as well. Rex glances around, recognizing the entrance to the most-used training salles, and the holographic training areas beyond them. He hesitates at the top of the stairs, trying to remember where he is in relation to the rest of the Temple, but—he knows the path to the quarters where the Knights generally live, where Obi-Wan’s office is and how to get to the Council’s tower, and from there to the hangars, but beyond that, he hasn’t exactly spent a lot of time in the Temple. And what time he _has_ spent there has generally been for a purpose, not exploring. He has no idea where he’s meant to be going.

Maybe he should just give this up and go ask Cody, Rex thinks with a sigh. Cody is…probably still in General Vos’s quarters, because he’d mentioned in passing last night that Vos was back in the Temple, and Rex only needs to walk in on Cody pinning one of the most dangerous generals to the wall _once_ before he gets the picture. But that means interrupting probably won't go well for Rex, and he’d rather not risk a comm call. Cody's a little _too_ dutiful; he’s been known to pick up in the middle of things, and Rex already knows more about Vos’s appreciation for Cody's thighs than he ever wanted to.

He’s in the middle of debating how much trauma he’s willing to risk for a peaceful walk when there's the hiss of a salle door opening in front of him, and Rex looks up just as an all-too-familiar figure steps out, just pulling his sash back on. Rex catches a flash of skin, of scar and muscle, and feels his mouth go desert-dry in a rush. Ferus is smiling a little to himself, content more than pleased, and Rex watches long fingers straighten the green fabric of his tabards and adjust the grey of his tunics, and—

Professional. Rex is a _professional_. He can handle this.

“General Olin,” he says, and it’s a minor miracle that his voice doesn’t crack. “Good morning, sir.”

Ferus doesn’t startle, just glances up, and his smile brightens. “Captain,” he says. “Morning. You're here early.”

“I was delivering some reports to General Skywalker,” Rex says, which is true enough. He tries not to hover over the men, though, especially when they're on leave, and getting away from the barracks should reinforce the fact that they're meant to be on downtime. He clears his throat, glancing at the salle so he doesn’t get caught staring at the spot where Ferus's dark hair falls against the curve of his cheek. There's one pale gold streak in it that looks like it’s going white, and it seems like it’s meant to draw the eye to the elegant planes of Ferus's face, his dark gaze. He’s…pretty. And it’s hard to ignore when he’s not actively dropping his lightsaber in the middle of a battlefield, assuming Cody's advice would ever actually work at all.

“Training, sir?” he asks, and then promptly wants to kick himself. Of course Ferus was training. That’s why he was in a training salle to begin with.

Ferus don’t roll his eyes, or point that out, though. He smiles, stepping forward to let the door close, and says, “It’s been a while since I was in a training salle. I wanted to see if it was still as peaceful as I remembered.”

“Was it?” Rex asks, honestly curious. He has no idea how it feels for a person to come back to the Order after leaving it, but—from everything he’s seen, the Temple is home for the Jedi.

“Yes,” Ferus says softly. “It’s easy to clear your mind in a place that’s meant for it. It helps to find your center.”

It’s hard to remember any of the things Anakin was saying about him when he smiles like that, aimed at Rex and full of warmth. Rex feels a little like he just got kicked in the chest, and he has to swallow hard before he can say, “Good,” and even that is so awkward he kind of wants to turn around and bolt. “I—that’s a nice combination. The robes.”

A little surprised, Ferus glances down at himself, then snorts. “My Master said black wasn’t my color,” he says, all self-directed amusement. “But I thought the green wouldn’t be too bad.”

“Lots of Jedi wear black,” Rex says, maybe a little loyally, because he’s never seen Anakin in any other color. It doesn’t seem _rare_ , though, even if most Jedi favor brown and tan.

Ferus waves a quick hand, like he’s apologizing for the words. “No, no, any Jedi can wear what they want. But—Siri used to tease me about black being too daring.” His smile slips into something rueful. “I wore it when I left, usually, but…I guess I'm still not used to colors.”

“These ones look good. On you. You look good in them,” Rex manages, and then debates turning and throwing himself back down the ramp. Or out a window. There are a lot of windows in the Temple.

But Ferus's smile is quick and a little sheepish and just faintly pleased, and he tugs at the tabards again like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands and says, “Thank you, Captain. I—I think I like them, too.”

Not creepy, then. Thank the Force. Rex makes himself breathe out, and asks, “Have you gotten your assignment yet, sir?”

Ferus shakes his head. “Not yet. Master Gallia mentioned waiting until after the next meeting with the Chancellor and the admirals, so they know where best to put me.” He glances past Rex, half a second before Rex catches the sound of footsteps and voices, and says, “It sounds like the initiate classes are on their way. I was about to get breakfast, Captain. Would you like to join me?”

Rex has never even seen the Jedi refectory. He hesitates, then asks, “Are you sure it’s allowed, sir?”

Ferus blinks, like Rex caught him off guard. “Of course,” he says firmly. “Guests in the Temple eat there all the time, and there's plenty of food.” Then he hesitates, and says, “If you don’t want to, or you're uncomfortable, you don’t have to, Captain. It wasn’t an order or anything of the sort, I promise—”

Rex raises his hands. “No, sir, I just—wanted to be sure. I've never been to the refectory.”

Something in the line of Ferus's posture eases slightly, and he lets out a breath. “Just—Ferus,” he says firmly. “I'm not a general yet, and—if you don’t mind, Captain, you can call me Ferus.”

Rex's mouth is dry, and his heart feels like the pace of it should be visible, or at least audible. Not a general yet. _Technically_. That shouldn’t hit the way it does, low in Rex's stomach. “Ferus,” he echoes, and then says, “I'm Rex, then. If you want.”

“Rex,” Ferus confirms, and smiles at him. “My favorite refectory is up near the Gardens of Meditation. It’s the one a lot of younglings use, but they should be in class by now, if you don’t mind the walk.”

The Gardens are probably popular with all the Jedi, Rex tells himself. It doesn’t mean anything, that Ferus was going to the same place that Rex was. A predictable coincidence given the size of the Temple, logically, but—

It still _feels_ like it means something, that even if they hadn’t met here, they would probably have met in the Gardens anyway. Rex _knows_ it’s just chance, but even so, there's a knot in his chest that makes it a little hard to breathe.

“I don’t mind at all,” he says, and steps to follow Ferus as he turns.

Behind them, a Zabrak Jedi is just reaching the top of the ramp, and she catches sight of Ferus and grins, waving. Ferus laughs a little, waving back, and says, “I see you got over your fear of children, Senn.”

“Got _over_? You mean I made it worse,” she jokes. “Welcome back, Ferus. You're about three years too late to help me with finals, though.”

“Thank you, Senn,” Ferus says, though Rex thinks he catches a flicker across his face. Still, it’s gone by the time he turns back to Rex, and says, “Left up ahead is best, I think.”

Rex takes the turn indicated, past a series of wide windows overlooking Coruscant. He’s a little too conscious of his size in full armor, the width of the pauldron, his height compared to the Jedi in nothing but light robes walking near him, and tries to keep to one side so he won't block too much of the path. Being in the Temple always makes him want to take his armor off so he blends in just a little better; no one else is dressed for war, and the Temple is a place that’s designed for peace, even if the Jedi are warriors.

“Those are _jaig_ eyes on your helmet, aren’t they?” Ferus asks, casting a curious glance at Rex. “From the GAR? I know Jango Fett was Mandalorian, but I didn’t think the GAR awarded people with Mandalorian honors.”

Rex can feel heat creeping up his face, and he clears his throat, then reaches up and deliberately pulls his bucket off, giving Ferus a crooked smile. “No, si—Ferus. The _Cuy'val Dar_ , the trainers Jango picked for us—they're the ones who decide who gets _jaig_ eyes.”

Ferus frowns faintly, picking that over. “ _Dar_ is _gone_ , isn't it?” he asks. “Or…temporary?”

Rex shakes his head, a little surprised that Ferus even knows that much Mando’a. “ _No longer_ ,” he corrects. “ _Cuy’val Dar_ means _those who no longer exist_. Jango asked them to disappear from their lives in Mandalorian Space, to give everything up and train the clones, and they did.”

“That’s a lot of loyalty to a man who wasn’t Mand’alor any longer,” Ferus says quietly, and Rex just shrugs. He never met Jango, never even saw Boba. Cody and Wolffe have some stories, but—Jango didn’t interact with the clones much.

“Some of them still thought of him as Mand’alor,” he says. “I'm not sure why the others followed him. There wasn’t a lot of time for asking questions between all the yelling.”

Ferus snorts, pausing in front of a lift to call the next one. “Jedi teachers don’t yell a lot,” he says. “I probably would have broken down and cried if they did.”

Rex swallows. He can't really picture Ferus crying. But…those words also make it hard to think of Ferus turning everything into a competition, like Anakin said. “Crying while running in full armor gets to be hard,” he says ruefully. “At some point you have to pick between breathing and crying. Or your squadmates fill your bucket with shaving cream while you're not looking as _motivation_ to make you move faster.”

Ferus laughs, startled, and quickly puts a hand up to hide his grin. “That sounds awful,” he says solemnly, like Rex can't hear the mirth in his voice. It makes something bubble up in his chest, effervescent and almost shivery, and Rex's ears burn. It’s hard to make eye contact, but—he also kind of doesn’t want to look away from the bright humor on Ferus's face.

“It would have been more awful if it didn’t happen a lot,” Rex admits, and making Ferus laugh shouldn’t knot in his gut like victory, but Rex is well beyond trying to fight his reaction. “But I was…rulebound. Sometimes.”

“Boring,” Ferus agrees wryly, and before Rex can even start to stiffen, he adds, “That’s the word they used for me. A good student, but…boring.”

Rex rubs a hand over his hair, grimacing. “I couldn’t—I'm a genetic anomaly,” he says, and when Ferus casts him a surprised glance, he tugs at the short strands in explanation. “It’s natural, not dyed. And—before the war really started, the Kaminoans tried to keep the number of genetic variations as low as they could. I almost got decommissioned a few times, but I figured out if I buckled down and studied hard, and was good at courses and never broke the rules, they let the hair slide.”

“Oh,” Ferus says quietly, glances at back the lift as the doors open. “I didn’t realize they did that.”

“Less now that General Ti took over,” Rex says awkwardly. “And—General Skywalker is good for making you think outside the lines.”

Ferus's smile is rueful. “He always has been,” he agrees, and steps into the lift, turning to face Rex and meeting his eyes. “I'm glad you managed to get through, Rex. Even if it meant shaving cream in your helmet.”

The gold streaks in his hair catch the light in ways that are frankly unfair to anyone trying to pay attention to anything else, Rex thinks, and swallows. “I'm getting my revenge now,” he says, and Ferus laughs. Rex's heart is in his throat, and—he hadn’t meant to tell Ferus all of that, but the fact that Ferus doesn’t seem to _care_ that Rex is an anomaly is…heartening. “I've got a list.”

“Can I ask who’s at the top of it?” Ferus raises a brow, reaching out to hold the door open.

“Commander Cody,” Rex says without hesitation. “With General Kenobi, in the 212th. I'm thinking of switching out all of his boots with high heels.”

Ferus grins. “I know the quartermaster, if you ever need help,” he says, and Rex can't help but smirk back. Cody's retribution will be terrible, but—worth it, probably.

“I might take you up on that,” he says.

“We can discuss it over breakfast,” Ferus says, and then glances from the space beside him in the lift to Rex. “If you still want to come?”

With a start, Rex realizes that Ferus is waiting for _him_. “Oh,” he says, a little sheepish. “I was going to wait for the next one. The weight limit—”

“It’s the larger lift,” Ferus says, and points to the red edging on the door. “Unless you still want to take it alone? That’s fine, too, if you want.”

“Oh,” Rex repeats, and then swallows. It’s…not _surprising_ that Ferus remembered, given how they met, but. Rex still wasn’t expecting him to, maybe. “Sorry, I didn’t realize.” He takes a careful step in, and just like last time, there's not even a hint of sway under his feet. Rex hates the feeling of lifts under the best circumstances—it’s a little too similar to the stomach-turning drop before he gets hurled through the air like a Jedi-propelled ragdoll, in his opinion, without any of the control of a jetpack—but the sway of the smaller ones makes him far more inclined to take the stairs. This, though—this is surprisingly fine, and he breathes out, letting himself relax.

“Thank you,” he says, and if it’s a little rough—well. He does appreciate it. Especially the way Ferus led them here without even mentioning it, like it was something to take for granted, that he’d go out of his way to accommodate Rex's ridiculous fears.

“Of course,” Ferus says, like it’s a _surprise_ that Rex wouldn’t expect such a thing from him. He waves the doors closed, then says, “The Gardens have been mostly empty the times I've been up there. Most of the Knights and Masters are gone, and—we should have them to ourselves, if you want to take a walk after we eat.”

Gone because they're fighting, Rex thinks, and forces himself to focus on the offer instead of the reasoning. “I’d like that,” he says. “As long as I'm not keeping you from something.”

Ferus's smile is wry. “I've mostly been hiding in my quarters,” he admits. “But Siri chased me out and said she was going to redecorate for me, so you're helping me find something to do until she’s done. If you _do_ want to take a walk. Or I can show you the hangars, or the crèche—”

“The Gardens,” Rex says quickly. Ponds gets dragged to the crèche regularly by his general, comes out dopey-eyed and talking blissfully about babies, and Rex would rather spare himself that fate. “Cody told me I should see them. And I've had to drag General Skywalker out of most of the hangars at one point, so I think I've seen that part of the Temple.”

Ferus doesn’t smile at that. Instead, his face goes white, and he looks away quickly, eyes dropping. “Anakin still likes to…tinker?” he asks, but it’s strangled, full of a startling amount of grief.

Rex doesn’t have any idea where it came from, but he hesitates, then says carefully, “Yes, sir. He’s a great mechanic.”

“He’s…really clever with engineering,” Ferus agrees, like the words hurt. But—not like he’s jealous. Not like he’s a competitive person who lost to Anakin in that. Rex sweeps a mildly alarmed look over him, but there's no sign of anger. Just grief.

Before he can ask, though, the door opens, and a whirl of warm air that smells like flowers and green things washes over them. Ferus takes a breath, then lets it out, slow and careful, and when he turns to smile at Ferus, it’s warm, only a faint, lingering trace of that sadness left in his eyes.

“Breakfast?” he asks, and Rex nods and follows him out into the open air, still trying to untangle that reaction and the meanings behind it.


	3. Chapter 3

Ferus's heart is beating too fast, but not for any of the pleasant reasons that it was before.

Rex is walking next to him. Rex, who is Anakin's commander, and who likely doesn’t have any idea why Ferus just freaked out and panicked over one passing mention of a place where Anakin's always spent a lot of time, always felt comfortable. He probably thinks Ferus is some sort of freak by now, but—

Anakin in the hangars just makes him think of Anakin with Tru’s lightsaber, _knowing_ that he’d already tinkered with it but still saying nothqing when Ferus tried to repair the blade. Makes him think of Darra, and the kindness she always had for all of them, and Tru’s lightsaber shorting out at precisely the wrong moment.

He still worries about Anakin. That was—that was as bad a decision as Ferus choosing not to tell Tru’s Master about the malfunction personally. They _both_ caused Darra’s death, but Ferus was the Senior Padawan, so responsibility falls to him. And—of course Anakin wouldn’t have told anyone who didn’t already know; he didn’t think he was at fault. So Rex doesn’t _know_ , and Ferus just—

There's a loud shriek that startles Ferus out of his spiraling thoughts, a flare of indignation and horror coming right for them, and Ferus has just enough warning to grab Rex's arm and jerk him back out of the way of the door. He’s just in time, because a fraction of a second later a familiar figure sweeps out of the commissary like a hurricane, comm raised.

“ _Quinlan_!” she says, disgust in her voice. “You _picked up_? _Force_!”

Rex winces, a sudden spike of sympathy cutting through his confusion, and says, “General Secura, you should just hang up—”

A loud, pointed moan underscores the point, and Aayla groans in disgust, snapping her comm off.

“Now I need to _bathe_ ,” she complains, but casts Rex a slightly pained smile. “Captain. I see you also had your comm picked up.”

Rex looks equally pained. “By Cody, sir. Last time.”

Aayla sighs. “Well, at least they seem to be having fun,” she says, and casts Ferus a quick smile. “Ferus, it’s good to see you back.”

“Aayla,” Ferus returns, bowing quickly. Aayla was a senior padawan a year ahead of him, but—kind. Always kind, no matter what, even if she was a little impatient with book learning and more focused on martial skills. “It’s good to be back. Congratulations on your Knighting.”

“I think I should be the one to say that,” Aayla says, and steps forward. Ferus doesn’t expect the hug, but he still hugs her in return, surprised by the tightness of her grip, the sincerity in her voice when she says, “I missed you, my friend.”

“I missed you, too,” Ferus says, throat tight, and—it’s entirely true. Aayla was always one of the other padawans who didn’t want anything from him, who was content to spar once in a while and climb the Spire with him and who didn’t worry about other matters. She always made Ferus feel comfortable in his own skin the way most of the other padawans didn’t.

Aayla chuckles, warm, and kisses his cheek before she pulls back. “We should catch up,” she says, and Ferus can feel that it isn't a polite brush-off, that she actually means it. “But for now, I have a former Master who needs to be shamed.”

Ferus hides a laugh, largely because he can't imagine Quinlan Vos ever _feeling_ shame. “Remind him of the tests you failed,” he suggests, because that at least will horrify him, and Aayla snickers.

“And the assignments I only finished because of you,” she says, and leans in, kissing his other cheek. “You always did have good ideas, Ferus.”

Mention of Anakin is still too close for Ferus to do anything but flinch at that, and Aayla sees it but doesn’t comment. She smiles at him once more, then squeezes his hand and pulls away. “Excuse me, I need to interrupt Quinlan’s morning. Captain.”

“Sir.” Rex watches her go, sunlight catching on his blond hair, and Ferus glances at him for a moment before he looks away again, that remembered too-fast pace of his heart already making him feel unsteady. Seeing Rex without his helmet is—not what Ferus was expecting. He isn't sure _what_ he was expecting, but not Rex.

“Quinlan’s Cody is the same clone you want to get revenge on?” he asks, because not saying something feels like too much of an invitation to say all the wrong things.

Rex snorts, shifting his helmet where it’s tucked under his arm. “Yeah, Cody likes to pick up when they're in the middle of things, too. He’s always been a bastard.”

If that’s true, he’s one Rex is deeply fond of, Ferus thinks, and can't help but smile, feeling the ebb of love in those words. “At least Quinlan waited until Aayla was Knighted to start that. I only needed my Master to pick up once while she and Obi-Wan were occupied for it to turn me off sex for at least a year.”

Rex chokes on a laugh, jerking a hand up to muffle it, and Ferus tries not to flush as he gets the door. “With General _Kenobi_?”

“They had some kind of relationship for years,” Ferus says ruefully. “I never asked, because then Siri might _tell_ me.”

With a quiet snort, Rex looks around the commissary, and that flicker of uncertainty as several Jedi glance up at them is one Ferus understands on a painful level. It’s a natural thing to take Rex's elbow, grip firm, a silent reminder that he’s here on Ferus's invitation and perfectly welcome.

“It’s one of the reasons Anakin and I spent time together when we were padawans,” he says, and—he doesn’t _want_ to talk about Anakin, but anything that can put Rex at ease is worth the mild discomfort of remembering their last encounter before Ferus left the Temple.

“Because your Masters were otherwise occupied?” Rex asks, and then winces. “I didn’t mean—”

Ferus laughs a little. “It’s all right,” he says. “Everyone thought so at _least_ half the time. They were one of the worst-kept secrets in the Order, I think. But mostly they were just around each other a lot, and Anakin and I got dragged along as well.” He pauses in front of the display screen, checking the menu, and says, “If there's nothing here you like, we can go to one of the other commissaries. They usually all have different menus, and it’s not too far a walk.”

With a faintly rueful smile, Rex looks over the choices. “I don’t know what half of these are,” he admits. “The GAR serves protein rations, and what we had on Kamino was always the same, formulated for maximum nutrition.”

Like with the comment about training and teachers yelling, Ferus feels a flash of deep dismay at just how far into his mouth he managed to wedge his foot this time. He hadn’t thought about that, about Rex growing up in such a different way, and it’s _stupid_ , because he should have considered it. It’s _logical_. Ferus just…isn't thinking much at all, apparently.

Hesitating, Ferus glances from Rex to the options, then tries for a smile. “How about a little of several?” he offers. “We can share, and that way you can taste them and figure out which you like.”

Rex rubs his jaw, clearly self-conscious. “Maybe—regular portions of several,” he says after a second. “If that’s all right. We have—high metabolism, and a high calorie intake.”

“Oh,” Ferus says, a little relieved that it’s an acceptable solution. “That’s fine. There are larger portions, too. The Order has a lot of members with similar needs.”

Something in the line of Rex's shoulders eases, and he gives Ferus a faintly crooked smile. “Then that sounds—good. Really good.”

Ferus smiles back, and this is the too-quick pace of his pulse that made him act like an idiot in the hallway. But—he’s not sure how anyone’s supposed to take a compliment from Rex _without_ getting flustered. Especially while _looking_ at him. “There are tables out in the garden,” he offers, punching in their order, “if you don’t mind eating in the sun. There's one by the reflecting pool that should be empty right now.”

“I've never been to the gardens, either,” Rex says after a moment. “I’d like to see them.”

He clearly doesn’t get a lot of chances to explore the Temple, and Ferus wavers for a moment, then before he can think better of it offers, “If you want to see the rest of the Temple, too, I’d…I’d be happy to show you. Not today, if you're busy, but—just. Whenever you want. It’s a beautiful place.”

Rex blinks, then smiles, and Ferus can feel the warm flush of pleasure at the offer, enough to make his breath short. “I’d love that, if you have the time.” He glances up as the compartment beside them opens, revealing three trays of food, and takes two of them before Ferus can. “We’re on leave for the next two weeks, and I usually just stay in my office and do paperwork, but…”

That sounds…lonely. Ferus feels a twist in his chest, something that relates a little too much, and takes the last tray, heading for the door first only partially to have a second to get his face under control. He’s maybe a little more honest than he intends to be when he says, “I’d like to have someone to spend time with, honestly. Coming back to the Temple is good, but—I was gone for almost three years.”

Res falls in beside him as they make their way down a gentle slope, to where a trio of willows just about hide the pool beyond. He’s quiet for a moment, but finally says, “Can I ask why? Why you came back. It’s the middle of a war.”

“ _Because_ it’s the middle of a war,” Ferus says ruefully, and sets the tray down on the small table in the grass, taking one of the seats. “Darra, she—she was my friend, who died. She was always funny, and bright, and wanted to help people no matter what, and I needed. I needed some way to remember her that honored _her_ , instead of my grief and my guilt.”

Rex looks like the answer caught him off guard, and he hesitates for a moment. Self-conscious, like his skin is a size too small, Ferus puts all of his concentration on laying out the food, setting one of the empty plates in front of Rex and nudging the pot of tea into the center of the table.

“Sorry,” he says, belated, only just realizing his mistake. “I didn’t think to order caf, but if you want some I can—”

“Probably good to take a break from it, with how much I normally drink,” Rex says easily, and reaches out, picking up the pot and pouring two cups. He pushes one across the table, and Ferus takes it with a smile. The brush of their fingertips is electric, too sharply in focus for such a quick glancing touch, and it makes him swallow hard. When he glances up, a little furtive, Rex is looking at him too, and Ferus feels a flicker of _caught_ that rises at the same moment as the wash of _I caught you_. His heart is in his throat, and he can't quite look away.

 _Oh_ , he thinks, because—because Rex clearly feels it too. His eyes are on Ferus's face, and in the sunlight the brown of them is almost tawny. He’s beautiful, and Ferus is—

“I'm glad,” Rex says, quiet, a little self-conscious as he sets the cup down, “that you decided to come back.”

—Ferus is doomed, that’s what he is. He swallows, too aware of the weight of Rex's eyes on his face, and wraps his fingers around the ceramic of his cup, looking down at the pale surface of the tea. “Me too,” he admits, and physically can't resist the urge to look up again, to where Rex is still watching him like he can't look away. “I'm glad to have met you, Rex.”

Rex ducks his head, and the tips of his ears are deep red. It’s—really cute. “The gardens are nice,” he says, quick, and Ferus might laugh at the transparent shift in subject, but his heart is beating too fast for him to want to object. If they _don’t_ change the subject, it feels like he’s going to combust. “They're—Jedi meditate up here?”

“Jedi meditate everywhere,” Ferus says, and Rex smiles like he’s actually funny. It makes Ferus's heart turn over in his chest. “But it’s nice here, and it’s quiet. Everyone tries to stay peaceful, so that we don’t disturb anyone else.”

That gets him a twist of surprise, something that slides into thoughtfulness. “I guess I didn’t think about that part,” Rex says. “You're all empaths. Does that get…tricky?”

Ferus hesitates, trying to figure out how to put it into words. “It’s easier in the Temple than anywhere else,” he finally says. “Outside—no one controls themselves, not the way the Jedi do. And the Jedi concentrate on understanding themselves, seeing emotion for what it really is and accepting it.” It takes effort, but after a moment he swallows and adds, “That’s why I came back. I realized I was being selfish, and then the Force led me back here. Back to being a Jedi.”

“Not quite _there is no emotion_ ,” Rex offers after a second, and it’s more question that statement.

Ferus shakes his head. “It’s _there is no emotion, there is peace_ ,” he says. “It means—it means you don’t let emotion _rule_ you. If you see another Jedi about to be killed, but there's a shuttle full of people about to crash, you—you have to be able to make the right choice, and ignore whatever you feel in the _moment_ , in order to do the right thing. One life weighted against a hundred lives should be an obvious choice, no matter your feelings.”

“Oh,” Rex says, frowning, but—thoughtful more than anything. Considering. Ferus lets him turn that over, focusing on serving himself the food, and then deliberately nudges the main tray towards Rex. Siri always gets too caught up in her thoughts to remember she has food in front of her, too. It seems to work, because Rex automatically starts helping himself, taking at least some of everything. He takes a bite, then pauses, and Ferus can feel the wash of surprise, the brightness of pleasure sparking. The next bite is quicker, without any of the mechanical edge of someone eating protein rations, and Ferus looks down to hide his smile. He’s _glad_ he invited Rex. This is—this is good.

It seems polite to wait until Rex has cleared his first plate and is going back for seconds of almost everything before Ferus even tries for any more conversation. Not that it takes long; Ferus tries to calculate calories and how much regular food Rex will need to eat to make up for not eating pure protein, but Rex doesn’t seem bothered by the discrepancy. He eats quickly, neatly, and Ferus tries hard not to watch his hands, the heavy knuckles and scarred skin, the way he’s so deft and careful despite the fact that he’s in full armor. Tries not to think of that brush of skin, one brief, barely-there touch, but—

Ferus's skin still tingles faintly, and it’s hard to pay attention to his own food the way he should.

“You were in the training salle,” Rex says, catching Ferus an instant before he sneaks another look. When he startles, raising his head, Rex flushes faintly. “Sorry. I just—last time General Skywalker and Commander Tano were practicing, they mentioned forms, and I’ve been…trying to figure it out. I don’t—if it’s private, you don’t have to—”

“It’s not private,” Ferus says, blinking. “It would be hard to fight our enemies with our style if it was.”

The tips of Rex's ears are back to being red, and he rubs a hand over his face. “That’s…logical,” he manages. “Sorry, sir. Ferus.”

Ferus smiles a little. “Don’t be,” he says. “I know a lot of what the Order does seems strange and—unknowable, but we’re not that odd. Just…raised differently.”

Rex smiles back, quick, a little brighter than before. “Yeah,” he agrees. “We are too. The clones, I mean. One of the reasons we’re good with the Jedi.”

Ferus is almost looking forward to finding out how good, even if the thought of fighting a war is still too large to really grasp. “To answer your question,” he says, picking up his tea again, more for something to do with his hands than because he wants it, “I was…a really devoted student, so I studied all the forms at least a little, including one that I had to get special permission for. But—I like Form II the best. Makashi.”

Calculation slants across Rex's mind, surprisingly sharp as he files the information away. Ferus can feel that he’s thinking of how the Jedi he knows move, and how to apply how _Ferus_ moves, and trying to figure out where he falls. It makes Ferus duck his head to hide his humor, and he takes a sip of tea before he says, “I can tell you who else uses Makashi, if you want. Unless you want to figure it out on your own.”

Rex flushes faintly, looking caught. “I know Jedi aren’t a logic puzzle,” he says. “It’s just—we didn’t learn a lot about the Jedi, on Kamino, and we all wanted to.”

“I'm not _offended_ ,” Ferus clarifies, giving him a smile. “But I thought I’d offer. Some of the forms are fairly similar, since they all grew out of each other.”

“General Skywalker and General Kenobi use different forms, right?” Rex asks. “General Kenobi is more…” He trails off, like he can't figure out what word to use.

There are a lot of words Ferus _could_ use, but—Anakin is a fellow Jedi. Regardless of what happened, Ferus has been gone for years, and it sounds like Anakin has a padawan now, has command of a full battalion. Maybe he’s grown up a bit.

“Restrained,” he offers, and Rex nods, relieved. It makes Ferus smile a little, and he says, “Master Kenobi’s style is defense without attack, and Anakin's is attack and counterattack without a solid defense. It’s one of the reasons they work together so well.”

“Is that a padawan and Master thing?” Rex asks, frowning as he considers. “To complement each other?”

“Yes. It’s not always planned, but—I think that when you grow up watching your Master fight, and seeing their weak points, it makes you want to defend them.” Ferus turns his cup in his hands, thinking of the sheer terror of watching Siri fall for the first time, even her mastery of Ataru not quite enough to keep her out of harm’s way. It happened so often, and Ferus was a good student, he was one of the best, but—

Still not enough. Still not _good_ enough. Pushing on, pushing himself harder, trying to learn everything and excel and make himself _become_ what a Jedi was supposed to be—that was what drove him. It pushed him headlong into the worst decisions, and Ferus can see now, with distance, that in trying to be the best he missed the point entirely.

Like Anakin, he’s hopefully grown up since then.

Rex's smile is a little crooked. “Now you’ll have whole division to help defend you,” he says. “Even if they don’t give you a padawan.”

That makes Ferus swallow, and he has to look down again. And—he knew when he came back that it might happen, that eventually he’d have to take on a student, but it still feels like an impossible thing. _All_ of this feels impossible. A part of Ferus still thinks he’s going to open his eyes on Bellassa, tired to the bone, still trying to find a place for himself almost three years after walking out the Temple’s doors.

“I _just_ made Knight,” he says, in an attempt at protest. “They can't give me a padawan for at least a few months. It sounds like Anakin got one right away, but—I haven’t even been in the Order for the last few years.”

“General Skywalker didn’t know he was getting a padawan,” Rex says, faintly amused. “Not until Ahsoka turned up on Christophsis. General Kenobi actually thought she was his next padawan at first. I think General Yoda assigned her specifically.”

Ferus swallows, and it’s all too easy to remember the way Anakin drew on the Dark Side in some of their spars, how his anger pushed him. To remember that Anakin _knew_ about Tru’s lightsaber and could have said something, but he’d thought that showing Ferus up and winning their bet mattered more.

Just a few months after Geonosis, and— _he_ wouldn’t have trusted Anakin with a padawan, but then, Ferus has never really trusted Anakin, so he supposes that he’s biased.

“I look forward to meeting her,” Ferus says. It’s only mild exaggeration.

“The commander’s steady,” Rex says, and the flicker of fondness he feels is clear, bright. It makes Ferus smile, and he watches Rex finish the last few bites of his food, then sit back, flicking a glance over the empty dishes that’s almost regretful.

It’s enough to make Ferus offer, “Any time you want to skip the protein rations, Rex, I’d enjoy having someone to eat with. It’s boring eating by myself.”

Rex's ears go red, and he rubs the bridge of his nose, not looking at Ferus. “I’d like that,” he manages after a moment. “I can—I can give you my comm code, and any time you want company…”

Oh. That’s—logical. It’s the obvious solution, but hearing those words phrased like that still makes Ferus's heart turn a flip in his chest, and he has to take a breath of air that feels like it’s too close, too hot. Rex is watching him, and Ferus can't do anything but look back, trying not to let what he’s feeling show on his face.

“That sounds good,” he gets out, and smiles. “I might comm you for advice, too, once I'm deployed. How to keep from tripping over my own feet in front of my troops, and all the words in Mando’a that I’ll probably get called—”

Rex laughs, and it’s­—beautiful. _He’s_ beautiful. His face is mobile and open and full of easy warmth as he says, “No one’s going to call you names. You’ll be their Jedi.” He pauses, then meets Ferus's eyes across the table, and Ferus finds he can't breathe at all. “But. You can call me whenever you want. If you want to.”

“I will,” Ferus says, before he can consider the words. Feels a flash of mortification, realizing the implication, and jerks his gaze back down to his plate, gathering the dishes with quick movements. He reaches for Rex's plate as well—

A big hand catches his, and Rex stills his fingers on the wood of the tabletop. Ferus's breath hitches, and he looks up before he can help himself, meets Rex's eyes because there’s nowhere else he wants to look. Rex is looking back, and Ferus can see him swallow, can feel the way Rex's fingers slide through his own, calluses in unfamiliar places rough against his skin.

“Good,” Rex says, rough. He visibly steels himself, then lets his thumb slide across Ferus's knuckles, a slow drag that knots Ferus's breath in his throat, kindles heat deep in his belly. “That’s good. Whenever you want to, I'm—I’ll take your comm.”

Ferus wants to answer, but he _can't_. Wants to lean across the table and kiss Rex, a sharp, sudden urge that’s entirely unexpected and breathtaking in its own right. Wants to grab his hand and cling, or tell him that he’s gorgeous, or blurt out just how much Ferus wants—everything, but.

Instead, carefully, he turns his hand over, wrapping his fingers around Rex's, and smiles at him. “We can take that walk now,” he offers. “Through the gardens. If you still want.”

“Yes,” Rex says quickly, and his grip on Ferus's hand tightens. “I do. Want. Want that. If you do.”

Ferus swallows, far, _far_ too aware of Rex's hand in his own, the way Rex is watching him. But—

He doesn’t feel off-balance. This is the first time since the Council welcomed him back that he actually feels like the earth is steady beneath his feet, and that makes it easier to get to his feet, pulling Rex along with him by their tangled hands.

“Then let’s go,” he says, and Rex's ears are red again, or still, but he doesn’t resist.

**Author's Note:**

> Update schedule, may the writing gods have mercy on my soul:
> 
> 7 February - and love is a call to arms  
> 9 February - somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond  
> 14 February - heartlines  
> 16 February - trade your heart for bones to know  
> 21 February - these soldiers have sun-fired bones  
> 23 February - you will open your wounds (and make them a garden)  
> 28 February - and love is a call to arms  
> 2 March - efface the footprints in the sands  
> 7 March - heartlines  
> 9 March - The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Time-Travelers  
> 14 March - these soldiers have sun-fired bones


End file.
